“Something’s not right,” Wonshik says as he looks around.

It’s not, at least, not right in their normal arrangements; only he sits on the couch watching TV – the ten p.m. rerun of a popular old drama about a typically spoiled rich boy falling for a typically golden-hearted poor girl – with a can of soda on one hand and phone in another. Hongbin is by the kitchen, attempting to cook of all things and Jaehwan has a sheet of paper on his lap where he sits on the fluffy carpet by Wonshik’s feet, staring blankly at it.

Hongbin doesn’t cook and Jaehwan can never maintain a paper unblemished for more than five minutes.

They don’t give him much attention; this is normal.

“YAH!”

Hongbin jumps at the exclamation; whatever he was making spilling on the counter and on his clothes. “What the hell, Wonshik?!”

Jaehwan continues staring at the paper on his lap, not showing any sign of having heard him. Wonshik is starting to get troubled with his hyung’s demeanor; he’s never that apathetic, that motionless. In fact, one of Jaehwan’s charming points is the almost constant stream of words tumbling through his mouth and the energetic way he… lives, really.

“Er…” he falters on his words, still closely observing the one near his feet, “I said that there’s something not right here.”

Even from where he sits, he can hear Hongbin’s scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Punk. “How about I start with you! You’re cooking, punk, cooking, for ’s sake! You who don’t even know the difference between fried egg and boiled egg!” Wonshik throws his hands up in a signal of frustration, barely avoiding spilling his soda all over himself and the couch. Then, he turns to a clueless Jaehwan. “Jaehwan-hyung isn’t paying any ing attention to us or to his drawing! Something’s not ing right!”

“The only thing not right is how goddamn loud you’re being,” Hongbin glares in his direction, before turning his back to him. He picks a couple of paper towels and starts to clean the mess he made, clearly giving off vibes of aggravation and indifference to whatever else Wonshik has to say, and oh, how he has things to say! It looks like the seven months and fourteen days they have apart serves for nothing; Hongbin has no respect for him, for Jaehwan, for the world! He’s a devil walking around wearing an angel’s clothing, blinking his almond eyes and flashing his dimples sheepishly only to pounce when people lower their walls, turning into a sarcastic little .

Jaehwan is a lot more comprehensive, a lot sweeter to him; he still teases him incessantly, but it’s different.

“Ken? Oi, Ken-hyung?” he puts his soda down, leaning forward so he can shake the other’s shoulder lightly; no answer, and Jaehwan is as blank as the sheet of paper he holds. A shiver runs through Wonshik’s back. “Hyung? Jaehwan?”

Jaehwan blinks slowly, as if waking up from a long slumber; even from where he is, Wonshik can see how some of the light comes back to the large brown eyes.

“Yes, Wonshik-ah?”

He finally, finally answers, but it’s wrong still. Jaehwan’s voice carries an almost airy tone, in a way that shows Wonshik he is only paying him a superficial type of attention.

Now he has his attention – as shallow as it is – Wonshik suddenly forgets the reasons why he had to obtain it from both boys, and he opens and closes his mouth three or four times before Jaehwan tires of waiting and turns fully to stare at him; his eyebrows pinch as his nose scrunches up, apparently seeing something on Wonshik that gains enough of his interest to make his eyes focus.

It’s kinda embarrassing; to take the brunt of Jaehwan’s focus so directly, so closely. His whole face and neck warms up, and he hopes that his blush can be confounded as the TV’s lights shining on his face; Jaehwan is undoubtedly cute on normal occasions, and this moment is not an exception, except maybe that beyond cute, he looks a bit pretty too and the thought of an attractive Jaehwan is such a shock that he leaps backwards, taking his hand away from Jaehwan’s shoulder and hiding both under his . He blinks repeatedly to expulse the thought of his head, only succeeding in making black spots dance on his line of sight.

“… So? Are you gonna keep lookin’ at me like some kind of creep?” the teasing question is a blessing and a curse, for now he’ll have something else to think of, but at the same time, he doesn’t know what he’ll say.

So he blurts the first topic that pops on his mind.

“Having trouble with the university’s Director? Judging by your face, you thinking of giving up and anticipating my victory?”

Jaehwan’s face loses all of its expression, the blank look coming back. A squeeze on his ribcage makes Wonshik want to reach out for the older boy, maybe tell a bad joke to make him smile goofily or his hair and make him spit a thousand of curses at him. He rubs his neck and looks away to contain those weird urges.

“What makes you so confident?” an impertinent voice sounds from the kitchen, and it’s Wonshik’s time to ignore it. “We barely even started and from what I hear, you seem to be the one eating out of Cha Hakyeon’s hand.”

A flush rises to his face. “Lies and slander! You’ll see, in no time at all he will be declaring his love for me to anyone who’ll hear!”

“Yeah yeah, and you don’t know his reputation? Charming, amicable, talented and heartbreaker Hakyeon; what most people get from him is a night, if they’re lucky.”

“Well, I’m seeing other sides of him,” like his spoiled, diva-like personality, and the same time, his funny and forgiving nature, “and as if you can say anything, stupid bean. Found the Ice Prince yet?”

The smile Hongbin directs at him is positively wicked, and Wonshik scowls automatically. “Not only found him, but made him look out for me,” he singsongs.

He arches an eyebrow and snickers. “In your dreams, right?”

“Wrong,” Hongbin rolls his eyes. “Don’t believe me, ask around.”

Huffing – to hide how this possible information is completely terrifying – Wonshik returns to Jaehwan, who stares at them with his mouth slightly open.

“Managed to get close to the Director without having to worry about him biting your head off? Proving to be harder than you can handle?”

“Sanghyuk’s fine, at least, he is what he looks like.”

“A delinquent who wears too much black?”

“Yes,” Jaehwan says, the word strangely acid. “Different from Hakyeon, who saunters around pretending to be someone he’s not.”

A flare of indignation blooms on his chest. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“I know more than you can possibly imagine,” Jaehwan smirks. His face isn’t made for it, and it irritates Wonshik that it’s there.

“What that’s supposed to mean?”

Jaehwan opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Hongbin, who plops down by Wonshik’s side on the couch, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That both of you are way too invested in the people we have to seduce,” he flips his hair out of his forehead, “not care about. Wonshik, you seemed ready to defend whatever honor you think Hakyeon has and Jaehwan-hyung, what about the ‘bratty, overly pretentious kid’ you were talking about to me?”

“As if you can say anything,” Jaehwan stands up; he smiles like he is private to something they’re not. “I have friends in the B5, and while they’re not ones for gossip, no one can ask them to keep quiet when the university’s Ice Prince is snatched away by the vet’s pretty boy. Not very sneaky, eh?”

Actually, he is.

Wonshik doesn’t enjoy feeling out of the loop, but it’s pretty much what’s happening; he’s too damn confused by Jaehwan’s sudden incisiveness and his own mixed feelings about Hakyeon – yeah, he’s not a flower without thorns, but c’mon, he isn’t that bad; his ness is kinda charming, like dealing with a spiteful kitten or a Jaehwan when he’s in one of his trimonthly artist’s block – and now Hongbin’s more advanced than he ever thought. Personally, Wonshik had seen Jung Taekwoon up close twice, but never has heard his voice. For Hongbin to actually touch the Ice Prince, be sought after… He will have to up his game.

Hongbin blushes faintly, and tries to deviate, “Whatever. Now that I’m thinking about it, how are we going to know when we won? What will count? Some PDA? A public confession? A public break up?”

Jaehwan seems sick with the questions. “Never thought about it.”

Neither did Wonshik when he suggested the bet. “No idea.”

“Taekwoon won’t ever do any of these; he’s not found of attention.”

“Shouldn’t associate with the other two then,” Jaehwan mutters, biting his thumb nail in a nervous gesture; Wonshik always has to remind him to not do it and wishes he could do it now, but they are on an impasse and the atmosphere remains a little tense. “We cannot record them– We could get into trouble if word spreads out or the big guys receive a complaint.”

A light bulb lightens up on his head and Wonshik is impressed with his own cleverness. “It’ll be enough to just present them as our boyfriends to each other, kinda like a ‘meet my friends, significant other’. They, with the way they are, having no objections means they’re pretty whipped… and tcham! a win!”

Both Hongbin and Jaehwan do that annoying thing of looking him from head to toe and back; questioning his ability to have good ideas and simply function as a normal – slightly above average; his notes are the third highest in his class, and he’s a Literature student. He’s intelligent, okay? – human being. They should have learned their lesson a long time ago; Wonshik used to tutor Hongbin back in high school and he has helped Jaehwan a dozen of times in his essays. Despite that, they constantly treat him as stupid.

“Sounds good… surprisingly,” Hongbin admits.

With a nod, Jaehwan sighs. “‘suppose so.”

Wonshik can’t help his victorious smile or the smugness that colors his tone, “Prepare yourselves to meet Hakyeon very soon~”

Satisfied with the way he ended the discussion, Wonshik goes back to his TV. The drama has ended, and the news is on; with a grumble and a chop to Hongbin’s neck for sitting on the remote, he settles back on the couch. He picks his soda, flat after so long, and changes channel.

Jaehwan remains standing, his figure half blocking the screen. “Move.”

The oldest shakes his head, shoulders slumped; he sits back on the fluffy carpet, this time in between Hongbin’s legs. He seems to consider picking back his drawing stuff, but decides against it, settling more comfortably on the floor. He’s so petty, sitting away from Wonshik merely because they had the slightest of discussions; Wonshik wants to drop his soda on his head so he can see how petty he can be too. The sole reason he doesn’t follow with this is the memory of their last prank war and his lack of eyebrows. He knows to choose his battles.

Ten minutes or so pass before he hears Jaehwan whispering to Hongbin.

“Do you think is worth it? What we’re doing?”

And Hongbin’s answer:

“We have a lot on stake here, hyung, of course it’s worth it.”

Wonshik stops listening to them, deciding he has had enough of this subject for today.

Not before his chest constricts with a sentiment he cannot describe.

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The temperature had changed again. The sun for yesterday is gone and dark grey clouds cover the sky by the time Taekwoon arrives in the B1’s theatre the next day.

Almost immediately, several faces turn to stare at him, and the familiar prickle of discomfort runs through his body, united with the regret of accepting a role on a real play, with payment and several weeks of presenting to all types of people, thousands of pairs of eyes fixed on his every move, every note to leave his mouth. Part of him wishes to go back in time, say no to the earnest eyes of his teacher and the excited countenance of the  real director of the real play in which he would be acting for real; another, growing part of him however, wants to participate, for he loves singing as much as he loves composing.

As he walks towards the stage, more and more heads turn – some actors sneer at him, others bitterly scan him from head to toe and one or other try to smile, awkwardly and fearful – in his direction; it’s being a circus animal over and over.

“Leo, you came! You don’t mind being called Leo, right? I can’t seem to pronounce your names correctly, tsk tsk,” the director exclaims as soon as he sees him, smile wide on his foreign face. He speaks English, and an interpreter follows him closely, keenly watching Taekwoon, to see if he has trouble understanding the man and waiting for an answer.

Taekwoon shakes his head, showing he doesn’t mind and that yes, he does understand. He can’t speak English very well, but understands almost all. “I don’t mind,” he adds, remembering that he can’t communicate with gestures and silence with this man.

After a quick translation, the director’s smile widens impossibly more. “Good! So, Leo, I was just saying to your teacher that this theater here is too small for our play, and that I already have everything set up to take everyone to a place where you can practice freely! Come, come I will present you to your colleagues so we can start! Professor Ahn said that he’ll talk to your other teachers and explain the situation, so don’t worry about missing class today!”

He nods, biting his bottom lip and warily searching for the translator, who skillfully summarizes the director’s words; Taekwoon follows the man to the stage, where two dozen people are reunited.

“Everybody! This is our third Armand, Jung Leo! Now, now, I want you all to be gentle and guide him through everything; it’s his first time acting on a play this big!”

A chorus of ‘yes sir’ echoes on the stage, and suddenly more eyes – so many, coming from all directions – are on him, measuring, calculating, trying to see how much he’s worth.

He does the polite thing; bows deeply and says, “Please take care of me.”

The crowd proceeds to present themselves to him, touching his shoulders and arms and hair; he bows to other students who were chosen together with him, and full-fledged actors with admirable careers. The attention is overwhelming this close.

Taekwoon does his best to be more open – Hakyeon said he has to try, they’re going to be his colleagues for many months, he can’t isolate himself completely –, but his heart hammers hard on his chest and his hands are sweaty; his face flushes bright red and his sight is covered in black dots, too much for him at once. His cool and composed façade is crumbling fast, and he can’t conjure enough force to put it back on; he doesn’t know how.

He doesn’t know how to deal with this, he doesn’t know what to say or how to act, he doesn’t–

“Hey guys, give the kid some space,” a hand lands on his shoulder, and turning his head a little to the side, he’s met with half a face; it’s unexpected. Normally he’s the tallest in the room, and even when not, the difference isn’t as staggering like now. “You okay?”

Taekwoon steps back, making the man release his shoulder; he swallows around a dry throat and glances up, finding two very dark eyes glancing back at him, in a mix of worry and amusement. He nods.

The man smiles, “Shin Sungrok,” he says.

Taekwoon bows. “Jung Taekwoon. I’ll be in your care, sumbaenim.”

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Hongbin wants to eat whipped cream cake and maybe drink something sweet, all from the cake shop near the university, and he is kinda disappointed with the fact that he can’t.

Youngji walks by his side, her long hair up in a ponytail and the opportunity of seeing her slender neck is cut short with the scarf she wears, much to Hongbin’s contempt. She looks stunning as always, yet at the same time, there’s a different look on her face, drawn tight and distant, and Hongbin sneakily checks his clothes and hair on a shop’s window to guarantee he’s up to par with her.

They’re on a free period and had agreed to meet over the phone the day before, harmlessly flirting and chatting.

In fact, they had just talked about meeting when Taekwoon had–

Face burning, he remembers the soft notes Taekwoon sang, melodic and angelical, his sweet voice echoing in the room they were, separating them from the world. He seemed so satisfied, so content in singing, the expressionlessness of his face disappearing with each second that passed, easing into gentle eyes and the slight curve of his lips had captivated Hongbin more than he is comfortable in admitting.

To take his mind off of the older boy, Hongbin bumps Youngji lightly. “Distracted much, Youngji-ya? Careful not to worry too much; you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Uh? Oh,” she touches her forehead self-consciously, “it’s nothing.”

“Let’s do it like this then: we’ll find a place with nice cakes and you can talk about what’s bothering you. Promise I will do my best to help, if I can.”

Her cheeks blush adorably as she plays with the fringes of her scarf. “Okay.”  

He smiles – with lots of dimples, like Taekwoon seems to enj- – and offers his arm to her; she stares at it for a moment before presenting him a smile of her own, wrapping her hand around it. They make small-talk as they walk, commenting on the weather – as cliché as it sounds – and many assignments they procrastinated and don’t have enough time to make; eventually they find a mainstream coffee shop and decide to eat there.

They don’t have whipped cream cake, so Hongbin goes with Youngji’s flow and orders a piece of tiramisu.

Within seconds after their order is ready and they’re seated, Youngji blurts:

“I’m upset ‘cause they didn’t choose me!”

“Huh?”

She sighs. “Professor Ahn is friends with a famous foreign director and they were holding auditions for the Drama students, so we could try to get a role on a big musical he’s preparing. I was nervous, of course I was, that was a great opportunity and everyone wanted it, but I thought I had done well, my friends told me I did well…”

“… but?” Hongbin asks, sensing the word in her pause.

“But they didn’t! I know it means I’m not good enough and that I have to train harder, but I really really wanted a role! I’m happy for my other classmates, but it’s not fair that he got a role!”

“He who?”

“The Ice Prince!” she exclaims, and the tiramisu Hongbin’s eating almost misses his mouth with the shock he feels. His gawking is interpreted in another way, as she continues. “I told you about him some time ago, remember? Said that he was really private and didn’t acted cocky like the others in his trio; so, he’s not in the Drama course and while his singing voice is otherworldly, how about the acting, uh?”

Hongbin gulps and tries not to sound too interested in the boy. “What he was doing there?”

“Professor Ahn likes him,” seeing his widened eyes, Youngji quickly adds, “not in that way! He’s always asking the Prince to show us riffs and high notes and how not to get lost with the progression and probably called him there to try. It’s ridiculous how easy he got a role, a main one!”

She drops her head on the table, grumbling about life’s injustices and that despite her bitterness, to hear Taekwoon singing was a privilege, as always.

Youngji’s adorable, and after a moment of thought, Hongbin reaches out for her hand, squeezing it in solidarity. He ignores the ache in his chest at the idea of witnessing Taekwoon on a stage, pretty and ethereal and focuses in giving her his silent support.

Sweet brown eyes meet his in between her bangs and the only thing Hongbin can think of is Taekwoon’s orbs, darker, ice melting into hot gentleness.

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So, I'm alive! Great news~

As I always seem to say: I'm sorry for taking so long in updating.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter and thank you everyone who read and reviewed, subscribed, voted and continues to follow this story despite all its and the author's fault.

No beta'd, so sorry for any mistakes you'll undoubtedly will find. Please feel free to warn me of them.